Early October, 1931

Fleur’s parents arrived on the eleven AM train. Fleur, the O’Leary’s, Duncan, Lucille, and a pair of Minkerton guards met them on the platform. The guards, Ace the bat and Vinnie the terrier, were standing at a respectful distance, long trench coats hiding the Colt automatics they wore beneath their armpits. Vinnie was former NYPD; Ace had been a Texas Ranger.

“Fleur!” Michelle barrelled forward through a crowd of bodies, straight for her daughter.
"<I'm fine now, mother, please–>"

The girl was silenced by two strong arms seizing her in a vice-like hug, followed by a barrage of kisses on every bit of her face from chin to forehead. “<Mon Dieu, Fleur! We were so worried about you!>”
Henri joined them a moment later, embracing his daughter and wife at the same time, and kissing Fleur’s forehead. “<It was worse than Passchendaele. But Fleur,” His tone hardened. “-what on earth possessed you to run away to Boston? Why not simply come back to our hotel? You terrified us!>”

“<I…>” Fleur sighed. She would have to choose her words carefully. “<I was not sure you would believe me. He’d been so polite in front of you. But that afternoon… what he said about everyone we passed, how he treated Marie, the things he expected me to put up with… he was horrible, and he acted like we were already engaged! I did not know what you would do.>”
Michelle whispered. “<Oh, Fleur. We would have listened.>”
The girl looked ashamed. “<I know, mother. But…But I was scared. And Lucille was the only other person I could think of on this side of the border I *could* trust. And she called young Sean to come with her, and he brought Duncan, and Monsieur O’Leary told you what that motherless goat of a Russian tried to do when he found out where I went–>”

Henri nodded grimly. “<He certainly did. I can’t believe we fell for that act.>”

Sean Sr. rested a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “<It is not as though he was a complete con man, after all. He really *is* Count Abramov. He merely… misrepresented the state of his finances. And of his soul, I’m thinking.>”

The wolverine gave a rueful nod. “<This is true. Still…”> He shifted back to English. “Corporal O’Leary, Sergeant Gunn.” He offered handshakes to each of them in turn. “I cannot thank you enough for helping Fleur when she needed it.”

Junior had the proper formalities ready. “It was our pleasure, and our duty, Monsieur Le Carcajouz. I am glad we were able to interrupt this plot before it got any farther.”

Duncan was a bit more gruff. He was also feeling just a touch guilty. “What he said, sir. They’re tryin’ to teach us t’ be fit t’be officers and gentlemen, so we did what we could.”

Fleur nodded, enthusiastically. “‘E stopped that constable from grabbing me when I tried to get away, maman. Are you still so sure you can find me a better ‘usband? Duncan ‘as no wish to use your money to buy his way into the Vostok court, I’m certain.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, before Michelle nodded. “We will see. You should still meet other young men before there is a final decision, I think, but…” The ghost of a smile played upon her lips. “‘E ‘as earned a chance to make ‘is case.”

The smile on Fleur’s face seemed to light up the room. “Oh, thank you, maman!”

Teresa, who had been watching the affair from a respectful distance, nodded with obvious satisfaction. “Now that that’s settled, we made lunch reservations at Parker’s. Is that good for you folks?”

~

Duncan and Fleur had spent almost the entire meal talking, partly in French and partly in English. The presence of parents precluded much of their usual topics, but it was still an easy, gentle affair. Duncan had, after some reluctance, begun to open up about his life in Glasgow.
"<When I was hungry, I used to get food by swimming in the Clyde. I'd find a quiet stretch and dive fer whatever there was.>"

"<Did you not get cold?>"

Duncan smiled slightly. He knew what she was referring to - his oily otter coat only covered so much of his body. "<At first, aye. But I learned a trick from a mallard, Nomenoe he was called, who lost his arm feathers in a steam explosion on the Gaulois, at Gallipoli. When he went fer a dive, he'd cover his bald bits with fat or grease from the factory waste.>"

"<Fragrant, was it?>" Fleur teased with a twinkle in her eye.

Duncan chuckled, shifting back into English. "Like a Turkish kitchen. But he was a guid friend. Come tae think of it, I need tae check on him."

Henri cleared his throat awkwardly. "You speak excellent French, Mr Kholyawsky-Gunn. Did you learn it at the Institute?"

Duncan nodded in obvious deference. "I learned the proper form there sir, aye. But the mallard I spoke of, he was from Brittany. He taught me the sailor's version."

“I see. Well, I cannot imagine it to be very different from lumberjack Quebecois. You should ‘ear some of the language my workers use when they think I cannot ‘ear them.” Henri managed a hollow chuckle. “Enough to burn foliage all by itself.”

Michelle shifted slightly. She had spent most of the conversation talking with Teresa, and as they had talked her posture had eased. She looked at Duncan for a moment, as though taking his measure, before diving into the heart of the matter. “So, what do you intend to do when you leave the Institute, Cadet-Sergeant?”

Duncan folded his hands together and rested them on his lap. “I intend a military career, ma’am, if they’ll have me. Promotion is slow, aye, but the Commandant tells me I could do well. If there are no prospects, then I will help ma’ run things in Canada.”
Henri nodded, the beginnings of an idea forming on his bushy brow. “Oui. About that, young man…I wonder, does your mother ‘ave a supplier in mind for lumber?”
Duncan frowned, before realisation dawned in his eyes. “Aye? Oh, er, I couldn’t possibly say, sir. Me ma plays things close tae her chest where business is concerned. But I dare say that she’s open tae offers.”
Suddenly. Teresa was grinning from ear to ear at him. “What is it, Teresa?”

The rabbit doe simply shrugged. “Turn around.”

Duncan did so, and his face lit up. He turned to Teresa, his face creasing into an incredulous grin. “How the hell did you get them tae come here?”

Teresa blinked. “Well, they do love you, Duncan - even if they don’t love Boston.”

Ushered in through the doorway were two small avian figures, both wrapped up in thick winter coats. Without a word, Duncan stood from his chair and strode over to them.
“Grandpa! Grandma!”

The raven woman gave a delighted laugh as Duncan picked her up in his vast hands and held her gently to his chest, throwing her arms open and wrapping them around his neck.
“Oy!” Rosa Kholyawsky reached out with a taloned hand and tugged at the fur beneath her grandson’s chin. “You put on such muscle, my boy!”

"It's the Institute, grandma." Duncan grinned. "They train us hard. Ye look well, tae!"
“Oof, not so vell that I couldn’t get used to being carried around like this! Put me down, before my feet svell!”
Duncan did as he was bid, before turning to the other raven. He bent down and hugged the old man, careful of the bird’s fragile body. "Hello, grandpa. Ye look guid."
The raven man smiled beneficently. "Bялікі, як дом!"

Duncan grinned. "Please speak English, Grandpa, or at least Yiddish, ye know I canny speak Byelorussian."
Rosa gave her husband an affectionate peck. “He says you’ve grown as big as a house.”

Teresa joined them, giving Rosa a hug. “Rosa, Yefim, I’m terribly sorry. We’ve already started, but I couldn’t get in touch with you to warn you that things had been moved up. We wanted to surprise Duncan with your visit, but events got away from us. The young lady Marcus mentioned was nearly kidnapped, and we’re just reuniting her with her parents.”

Yefim Kholyawsky adjusted his spectacles, bleary eyes crinkling, and said something in Yiddish that made Duncan chuckle.
"זי איז דאך שיין?"
“Aye, ye get tae meet her after all.”

Rosa took his hand. "Such adventures! So, vhere is this iunge maydl, then? Your father hasn’t met her yet either, he said."

Duncan flushed slightly. "She's over there, grandma, with her parents."
"Ah," Rosa smiled. "Best behaviour, Yefim - the agreement is not sealed yet."
Yefim gave her a crafty look. “Вы ўпэўнены? Я адчуваю яе пах на яго.” The raven woman flushed and gave his hand a light tap.
“Я таксама, але нічога не кажы.”

The four of them returned to the table, where introductions were made. Fleur was delighted. While the others chatted, she leaned over to whisper in French. "<Duncan, your grandparents are adorable! Why didn't you tell me sooner?>"

The otter hybrid simply shrugged. "<The subject didn’t come up. They don't like the big city, so they only come in when they want to see family and friends.>"

Rosa cast a critical eye in her grandson's direction. "Now, vhat vas that about speaking a language that others could not understand?"

Duncan smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, gramma."

The raven reached over and smoothed down his shoulder. "No bother, my boy." She looked at Fleur, her gaze turning to mischief. "I warn you, sheifele - you will find him hard to handle. He takes after my husband's line, and no one could have raised him other than Moiré."
Fleur simply flicked her eyes up to Duncan, her tail swishing gently under the otter’s gaze. “I will manage, Madame Kholyawsky.”
"So," Michelle ventured. "Please tell us, Monsieur and Madame Kholyawsky, when did you come to America?"

"Our families are from Pinsk," Rosa explained. "It is a small city in Byelorussia. My father was a…vell, the Bolsheviks would have called me bourgeois. We were cloth merchants."
Yefim said something in Yiddish that made Rosa flush, and Duncan wince. "Whereas Yefim," She continued without halting, "-remains a proud peasant. We married for love, you see. We lived in Pinsk for a good while, but ve came to America when I was pregnant with Marcus, in…1893, vas it not?"

Yefim smiled simply. "Jo, jo."

Henri nodded. "It is interesting, how America draws all sorts. Even if Count Abramov did not like-"

Yefim's head snapped up. "Abramov?" The transformation in the old man's demeanour was startling. His hunch had disappeared, his feathers had ruffled, and his blue eyes had a gimlet flare to them that was matched by the edge in his voice. For the first time he spoke in English, low and growling with the accent of the shtetls. "Vhat vas his full name?"

Henri blinked, startled. "Er…Pyotr Vladimirovich Abramov."

Yefim made a coarse sound in his beak, and clenched a gnarled fist on the table.
"Traitors." He hissed. "Apostates." The raven shuddered slightly, the feathers on his neck bulging out over his shirt neck. "The Abramovs abandoned the faith in the days of Catherine. The converts are alvays the vorst, jo? They feel the need to prove themselves, again and again. There vas a Colonel Abramov who vas in charge of the Cossacks in Minsk."

Henri nodded. “Not the same one, I think, monsieur. This fellow was born early in this century, he is no older than thirty. Sean 'ere informs me that the family was ‘urt badly in the Revolution, and Pyotr is a surviving nephew of the former Count.” He shook his head. “From what Fleur tells us, he is just as much of a bigot, if not worse.”

Sean Senior's face was grim. “He did participate in the Civil War, I'm afraid. I've being doing some digging with an old friend in the British Army. A Major Lennox, he served in the Caucasus in 1919. He tells me that Abramov was with the Volunteer Army in Ukraine. They were… rather indiscriminate about who they targeted, I’m afraid. He was only a junior officer, though, not the one setting policy. But still…”

Yefim gave a vindicated snort, and unbuttoned his coat to pull open his shirt. There, just below shoulder and collarbone, was the tell-tale ridged flesh of a slashing wound. "The pogrom in 1883. I vas in the Bund, when the Cossacks attacked our barricades.” He traced a claw absent mindedly over the scar. “You had a very lucky escape, I think," He looked at all three wolverines. "The Abramovs are schleger, alvays have been."

Duncan growled. "Bastard."
Fleur flashed him a reproving look. "Language, dear." Teresa and Michelle both smiled benignly as Fleur pre-empted them, leaving Duncan to grumble out an apology. The otter hybrid still stabbed mutinously at the fish on his plate, as though it were the count himself.
"I'd love tae see him on the ice, at any rate…" he snarled.

A glint appeared in Fleur's eye as her tail flicked up under the table to brush against his foot. "Which reminds me - when is your next match?"

“Not until December.”
Fleur looked disappointed, her shoulders slumping. “December! But we’ll be back in Canada by then!”
Duncan reached over to clasp her hand. Teresa breathed in, as Michelle watched the pair intently out of the corner of her eye. Duncan didn’t even notice – his eyes were fixed on Fleur’s.
“Hey. Ye can still pop down tae visit, aye?” He grinned. “Anyway…What’s the worst that could happen in a month or two?”
Fleur smiled and squeezed back. “Not much, I guess.”

~ 1st of November, 1931, early evening

It was late evening at the O'Leary residence, but the household preparations for Thanksgiving were already in full swing. Everything needed cleaning, the guest rooms had to be readied for the influx of both the O’Leary and Chambers clans, extra help arranged for cooking…

Grace, the vixen housekeeper, was busy trying to manhandle a freshly dusted lampshade back into position from atop a creaking stool. "Feck it," She muttered to herself. In the last year, Grace prided herself on having mastered the running of a modern American residence under Mrs O'Leary's tutelage. She knew what the other housekeepers whispered - that she had only been hired because she had lain with Sean Junior - but she liked to think that a year of solid work had silenced those rumours pretty handily. (Not that she would have objected all that much, but the boy had refused to take advantage of her under the circumstances.)

The doorbell rang, and she let out a grunt of resignation before jumping down, putting her best smile on as she did so.
Probably some eedjit salesman…
All the same, she made sure the hurling stick was handy by the doorway. It paid to be prepared. The O’Leary clan were good people, but they had Enemies.

She opened the door and found herself looking up into the scarred face of Duncan. "Why – young Master Gunn, what brings ye here at this hour?" In the year since the incident, Grace had come to trust and like Duncan. But there was a look in his eyes that made her shudder.

"Grace, where's Sean?"
"Which one? The master's out, but Junior's in the front-"
Duncan brushed past her and burst into the living room, uniform coat still dropping snow onto the floor. The blue uniform tunic was gone, now. Instead, Duncan was clad in full doughboy khaki, a peaked cap folded under his arm and his feet clad in heavy motorcycle boots.

Sean Junior had padded in from the front room as soon as he heard the voice. “Dunk?” The rabbit frowned. “I thought you were helping out at the barracks?”
"Junior," Duncan held out the telegram. "It's happened. O'er in New Haven, I mean, this morning. They're keepin' it quiet tae stop a panic, but it's happened. The Red Fists have overthrown the government. Taken the Assembly House, lynched a few o' the delegates. Coppers didn't even fire on 'em."

Junior stared. “Without a fight?”

He shook his head. "Aye, I know. That place was even worse than we thought. The Commandant says the Governor asked him tae help the Legion form a state guard. There's rumours goin' round like mad, shite about a bomb bein' found outside State House, an’ the Unions threatenin’ tae march on Boston."

Sean Senior joined them at that point, the rabbit appearing through the front door with his suit in some disarray. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion. He raised up a hand as Duncan began to explain.
“I’d heard, through my contacts at Minkerton. Pat says the bomb thing is just drivel, but it is something of a concern in the border states.”

Duncan frowned. “Ye think they might try tae spread the chaos out?”

Junior nodded at that, eagerly. “They *are* Trotskyists, father, it’s in their doctrine.”

Sean Senior gave a qualifying grunt. “Unlikely, they’ll want to consolidate first. Wouldn’t put it past the Fists to try a distraction if they thought the US was going to stomp them, though. I rather doubt Hoover will do anything as long as they stay inside their own borders. But if they try to stop refugees from escaping, who knows what will happen along the border. It’s been too long since there was any serious kind of control along most of it, and if there’s any whiff of US citizens being detained, even Hoover will be forced to do something.”

He sighed. “What worries me is the possibility of a gunfight breaking out. Confusion is our worst enemy, in times like these.”

Duncan merely nodded. "Aye tae that.” He turned to the younger Sean. “Junior, we've been called out. Old militia ordnance, the Commandant says – any man o’er the age o’ 16 who can handle a rifle. We need tae get back tae the Institute. We're tae be sworn intae the State Guard, pronto.”

~ The next evening

Fleur made her way down the snow-covered streets at a brisk pace, pulling her overcoat tighter around her body and shrinking into her shoulders. Even with her winter fur, she felt the chill. Walking through Boston alone in the evening wasn't ideal, but she had no choice.

The O'Leary house was just ahead. With a final shudder, she strode up to the door and rang the bell. The door opened, and she was bathed in warm light.

"Miss Le Carcajouz? What brings you here?"

The wolverine shifted awkwardly. "Hello, Grace. Is…is Duncan zere? Or Mrs O'Leary? I…I need to talk."

Grace frowned and took the wolverine gently by the arm. "Miss Fleur, you're shivering. Ye came here alone?"

"I'm fine." Fleur huffed. "I just need to see them."

The vixen guided her to the parlor. "Duncan’s not here, but I'll tell the missus in a moment. First, though, I’m makin’ sure ye're sitting by a fire with a cup of cocoa. Come inside, and we'll warm ye up."

For a moment, it looked as though Fleur would argue. Then, she relented and allowed herself to be ushered into the living room, where she was set down with a blanket. "Thank you, Grace."

The vixen vanished toward the kitchen and reappeared with two cups of cocoa on a tray. Teresa followed her in and nodded, and Grace withdrew to let them speak privately. “Are ye alright, Fleur? Have your parents found out and done something?

"They 'ave not thrown me out, non. They think I am with Lucille. I came because I 'ad to tell Duncan."

"Tell him what?"

The wolverine closed her eyes and hung her head. "I… I 'ave not 'ad my blood. And I feel ill in the mornings. My scent 'as changed too, Marie noticed."

Teresa sniffed the air closely, then put a hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh, good Lord."
She stared, wide eyed. "From your first time?"

"Well…from our first night…" Fleur blushed. "He is very vigorous, you know.”

Teresa shook her head, and sat down beside the young woman, folding her into a hug. "And this is why we tell ye t' wait until after the wedding, girl. Faith and begorrah. Duncan’s still with the Guards down at the New Haven border, but I know what he’ll say. He offered t' marry you before, and he’ll want t' even more, now."

Fleur nodded. "And I will say yes." She gave a slight giggle, more out of nerves than anything else. “Thank you for understanding. But this will at least make maman stop worrying about one sing. She kept saying she was concerned that we could not have ze little ones together.”

“Hah! I’d be willin’ t' bet it was just an excuse t' try t' talk y' out of it. He’s half otter, ye’re wolverine and a touch of mink. Ye’re close enough that it was not likely t' be an issue, and she probably knows that.”

Fleur sighed, her shoulders slumping as the tension left her body. “Oui... We certainly proved it, non?” She sipped her cocoa, one hand resting subconsciously on her abdomen. "...Is Duncan…'ave you 'ad any news? I 'eard people talking on the train."

“We haven’t heard directly from Duncan, but we got a note from Junior yesterday. All is quiet, New Haven is sticking to their borders and not provoking any incidents, and American citizens are being allowed t' leave. Unless he’s fallen down a well, he’s fine.”

~

Part V of the saga worked on by me and  Kythra featuring our characters. This time featuring the Minkerton Agency and certain nasty goings on in New Haven, courtesy of  marmelm, :ionwalt46: and  EOCostello! The Spontoonverse was created by  Heywulf

PS: For those who would like to know:
Yefim: "Are you sure? I can smell her on him."
Rosa: "I noticed, but don't you dare say anything."